


The Smallest Mistake

by Undomiel5



Series: The Forgotten Princess [6]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Universe, Gen, Non-graphic injuries, Serious Injuries, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5/pseuds/Undomiel5
Summary: T.A. 2247. Even for one of the most skilled swordsmen among the elves, the smallest mistake can have great consequences, especially when dealing with weaponry. So Gloredhel of the House of Elrond is reminded one spring afternoon.





	The Smallest Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or any other of Tolkien's works, idea, characters, etc. set in Middle Earth. All I own are a handful of original characters and the plots of these specific stories.

T.A. 2247  
Spring  
Rivendell

Gloredhel heard the quiet chatter of the watching elves as she continued her practice fight with Aranuir, an up and coming elf under her brother’s command. She was used to distractions as she fought, however, and didn’t let their talk distract from her task of training. Her brother usually attended to these training sessions, but Glorfindel was away from the valley for several days, so Gloredhel, always happy to help our her twin, had agreed to continue them in his absence.

The two elves circled each other warily, though Aranuir was more wary than she, for Gloredhel was one of the most skilled elves in Rivendell. Each wore leather jerkins and over them a coat of chainmail for extra protection. Their swords were blunted, but accidents could happen, and even blunted swords could still cause serious harm.

Gloredhel was reminded of this about half way through the fight. She had just gotten through his guard and gave Aranuir a slight tap on the waist with the flat of her blade. She then took a step, waiting for him to regroup and attack again. She would fight defensively this time, and he offensively. They switched back and forth each time one scored a hit to give extra practice in both kinds of fighting.

Aranuir lunged toward her, aiming for her right side. She parried the blow, catching his blade on the hilt of her own sword then pushing his blade up and away. The fight moved quickly. Even as Gloredhel leapt backwards to give herself more room to maneuver, Aranuir was already moving forward to attack again. Gloredhel landed cleanly several feet back with knees bent and immediately brought her sword up into a guard position in front of her body. The younger elf feinted towards her right, but even as Gloredhel brought her sword up to parry this blow, he moved to strike her opposite leg. Gloredhel moved to block this blow all the while taking a step back.

The next few seconds seemed to Aranuir to take place to horribly slow motion. Gloredhel had responded to his feint as he thought she would. This was practice. She wasn’t playing to win outright, or she wouldn’t have fought as she did. Gloredhel had easily parried the blow, while he moved in for his real strike. The lady had moved to block the new attack and had gone to take a large step back. Then it all went wrong.

Gloredhel stumbled as she moved backwards. Her foot caught on she knew not what, and she could feel herself start to fall even as she desperately tried to block Aranuir’s upwards strike. He tried valiantly to recall his blow, but Aranuir had already fully committed to the blow, and its momentum couldn’t be stopped. His sword, moving up and away from him, slashed across her upper leg, marring the chainmail but doing little damage, before slicing through the chainmail and into her side.

For a moment she felt nothing as the sword pierced her chainmail and cut into her side. Then after a moment a biting, fiery pain set in and began to claw its way through her side. Blood began to trickle down the blade first slowly then faster, and her own sword fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. Almost as soon as the sword had pierced her it was withdrawn, its master bearing a look of horror on his face. Gloredhel fell to one side, extending a hand to break her fall. A cry broke from her lips as she landed, the fall causing her side to hurt even worse.

Aranuir stumbled backwards several steps. His face was horrified. He was stunned, his face deathly pale. “My lady, I . . .” He couldn’t finish.

The watching elves were momentarily stunned at this turn of events, but they started to move forward as the shock of the moment was broken.

“Gloredhel!” This shout came from a little farther back. Two dark hair elves, identical in face and form, dashed forward as they saw their mentor fall. Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, pushed through the crowd and hurried to Gloredhel’s side. Still in shock Aranuir was still standing a few paces back.

Elladan dropped to his knees. Gloredhel had rolled onto her back and lay still, one hand pressing down on her wound. “Lay still,” he said, “let me see!” There was a small pool of blood already beneath her. With the strength of an elf behind the blow, the blunted sword had cut deeply.

Slowly Gloredhel moved her hand. More blood flowed from the wound as the pressure was removed. Elladan pulled the damaged chainmail enough away so that he could see the wound. Broken chainmail links had torn the skin at the very top of the wound, but inside the cut was clean but deep. Elladan moved Gloredhel’s hand away and used one of his own to put firm pressure on the wound. She flinched but didn’t cry out. It was painful, but she had faced much worse long ago.

Elladan turned to his twin who had knelt beside him. “Go get Father.” He said.

Elrohir hurried off at a run toward the house to find their father, and Elladan turned back to Gloredhel, as a few of the older elves in the group led Aranuir away for the present. She lay still without complaint though the lines of pain across her brow bore testimony to the pain she felt.

“Father will be here soon, Gloredhel, and we’ll get you patched up.” Elladan kept his voice light. The wound was deep but not serious for an elf. He still hated to see his teacher and mentor in pain.

“Ironic . . . I survive Fornost only to . . . be injured in an accident.” Her voice was halting and punctuated by several coughs.

Elladan grew concerned when she started to cough. The sword couldn’t have hit her lung, could it? The wound wasn’t that deep.

“The boy’s strong.” Gloredhel said after a few moments. “I think he broke a rib with that stroke.”

Elladan nodded and patted her shoulder with his free hand. It amused him sometimes how she called so many elves young, though Aranuir was in truth young by Elven standards. Gloredhel was older than his father by about two thousand years and had lived before the rising of the Sun and Moon. When one was that old, most everything else seemed young.

Within another few minutes, Elrohir returned with his father. Taking the place of his eldest son, Lord Elrond knelt beside Gloredhel. “What happened?” He asked.

“Sparing accident,” Elladan, who had moved around to Gloredhel’s other side, replied, “she stumbled, and Aranuir didn’t have to time to stay his blade.”

Elrond spared a quick glance around the training field before returning his attention to his patient and the matter at hand. “Where is the boy?”

“Gildor and several others led him away. He was quiet upset.” Elrohir replied. He stood far enough back to be out of the way but close enough to help if needed.

Elrond finished his examination within a minute. “Your wound will need to be stitched, lady, and your ribs bound. You have not one but two broken ribs.” She nodded and pressed down on her side when he removed his hand.

Lord Elrond slipped one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and lifted her as gently as he could. A groan partially stifled slipped from her lips. “I’m sorry, Gloredhel, but it cannot be helped. I’ll get you something for the pain as soon as we reaching the Healing Wing.”

With Elladan and Elrohir opening the doors ahead, the party moved swiftly through the halls of the Last Homely Home, and Elrond soon laid his lieutenant down upon one of the tables. With one arm behind her back to help her sit upright, Elrond and one of his assistants, a grey-haired lass, begin to remove her chainmail and leather jerkin. The twins, no longer needed, slipped away, while Elrond’s other present assistant begin to gather the needed materials.

“You, lady,” Elrond said, undoing the ties of her chainmail, “have a surprising capacity to get hurt while your brother is away.”

“. . . Arnoediad, the Siege . . .” She replied through gritted teeth, “how could I forget.” Her eyes lit with a twinkle for a moment, and she continued for a moment, “Perhaps, my lord, you should start sending us out together again, instead of apart.”

As soon as the two elves had divested Gloredhel of her coat of mail and her leather jerkin, they eased her down. Elrond took a goblet his other assistant extended and pressed it to Gloredhel’s lips. “Drink. It will help with the pain.”

Within a few minutes the lines of pain on her face started to smooth, and she started to relax. Taking this as his clue, Elrond started to stitch up her wound.


End file.
